A Chinook storm has blown in. The rain is coming down hard and steady and its rivers are flowing down the street into the drains.
Last night the atmosphere was gathering its strength and warmth into turbulent masses above our house. The planes flew low, their engines loud and their sound all encompassing. My kids could not fall asleep. Then they fell asleep and woke up. And woke me up. I’d hiked for 7 miles yesterday, but deep sleep didn’t come until early in the morning.
I woke up to warm air and heavy rain. It’s so November, so Thanksgiving week, so wet. The darkness descends and skiers rejoice because it’s dumping snow in the mountains. At sea level, the birds are still taking flight, moving across the grey that encircles my city. I love the warmth of a Chinook storm. I love the pattern of knowing what the seasons bring, even if it’s dark and heavy and grey.